Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1887-07-07

mead and cast il on the bushes / was
amused. Doc told me that he had
named II 'Lucy Paxton" and if it
grew he would know that she loved
him, and If not he would be disap-
pointed he was getting too deep for
our philosophy then. ,-rEl
A whole year rolled away. and on
the nextspriug l saw that the love vine
reappeared and grew on the bushes.
Doc saw it too, and he was pleased
greatly pleased. He was not an ar
dent lover. He worshipped at dis
tance. The young fellows who came
home on furloughs were very gallant
and deferential toward Lucy. This
must have worried Doc, but he never
gave any sign.
Then came that call for men; that
plucking of the very flower of South
ern chivalry. o, remorseless war!
John Paxton was Is, and he must go
to the war and leave his mother and
Lucy to fight the harder battle at home.
The ''enrolling officer" that agent of
war whose approach was dreaded so
much, he told us that.
When he left Doc followed him out
to the gate. After a short talk the
officer departed after shaking Doc by
the hand.
"Tve learned somethin'," he said,
with radiant face, when In came
back. "The enrolling officer says that
John can stay at home if he can get a
substitute. Pm gwlne to be his sub
stitute."
Of course John Paxton did not want
to agree to the proposition. 1t looked
unmanly for him to stay and send
little fellow like Doc. But the latter
argued, 81 amt got nobody to keer
for, an if git hurt nobody'll be the
loser. You've got Mis- Paxton and
and-Lucy," he stammered, IAN you
ought to stay an make the crap. Be
sides, / want to git to be big Gener'l
some time, maybe, an then Tll-Ill-
well, want to go, anyhow, an I'm
gwine as your substitute" And he
went
Poor little Doc! Friend and play
mate of our childhood. His delicate
form that had been SO nourished and
cherished by his doting mother-and
our mother had loved him as one of
her own--when they brought him
home, wasted with privation and hard
ship, and the hectic fever burned on
his cheeks, he looked very much like
our little old Doc. 1t was springtime
again then. There was lull in the
wild tempest of war. Bronzed and
bearded our heroes came home.
Bowed with defeat, tattered and torn,
ragged veterans of a hundred battles.
There were SO many heroic deeds that
the recital of daring achievements
grew commonplace. They did not
like to talk about it. Our Doc had
been every inch q soldier. He had ac-
Iquitted himself nobly. He was going
to die, as so many stronger men had
died, without stain on his fair es-
cutcheon 1t was Lucy Paxton's hand
that plucked the sweet bouquets which
found their way to his feeble hands.
1t was her mother who sat with our
mother and counted the pulse beats of
our Doc as life was fading fast away.
One day he reused himself from his
stupor, and with light in his eyes l
had never seen before, he asked me to
go and see if the t'love vine" had be.
gun growing. did as he requested,
and found the golden threads entwined
around the low gallberry bushes.
''Is it a-growing," he asked when
came in.
! Eyes; it is running everywhere" I
answered
81 knowed it. That's a sure sign.
I'm so glad"
That was the last word he ever ut
| tered
| Lucy Paxton is the noble wife of an
honest farmer. She is good woman,
and she points out little mound in
the old graveyard to her children.
when they go there meeting days, and
they scrape away the green mold and
the liehens, and spell out the letters
on it, DOC, Doc."-M. III. Folsom
m Atlanta Constitution.